Of an Old Age, Comes Anew
by Rozelyn
Summary: 200 years after Galbatorix is killed, the land of Alagäesia has once again fallen into a golden age. But when new troubles start to arise, it's up to Ildruën, son of Dauthir, to protect his home. But this time, there is no Eragon or Saphira to save them.
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or any of its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others. **

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue <strong>

Ildruën grasped the apple between his teeth and flex his fingers, prepared to climb. Eyes flashing, he inspected the wall, glancing here and there to find a good handhold. Once he did, Ildruën dug his fingers into the crevice and began to climb, wincing whenever his hands were scraped against the rough sandstone wall. He only wished that the buildings of Dras-Leona were as smooth as the ones he heard in Ilirea. Rumors go that the towers were long and sweeping, and that all its houses were made from the purest marble. The beauty of the city only rivaled those of Ellesméra and the Dwarven kingdoms.

Ildruën scrambled on top of the building, breathing heavily, his arms still burning from the climb. But it was worth it. Today, Queen Nadara II, the descendant of Nasuada the Wise, would visit the city while granting the Governor of Dras-leona the privilege of becoming a city-state, after nearly 200 years of being completely united with the Empire. The Queen and her council had been discussing this for nearly two months, before coming in term with the agreement. This would be the first time Queen Nadara would leave on official business just after her father died.

Ildruën was higher up than he expected. He could see the bright, bustling streets from miles around and, if he squinted, the old ruin stones of the once-Helgrind, where the dragon Atharga, son of Saphira Brightscales, had struck it down. The formation still emanated evil.

Ildruën shivered. He had studied the "dark ages" in school, of what the world had been like when the tyrant Galbatorix still ruled supreme. Gone were the dirty streets. Gone were the heretic priests of Helgrind. Gone was the blasted Cathedral. What replaced it was a clean, new city of bright houses and smiling, content people. The reign in Alagäesia had become a peaceful one, after a century of Galbatorix contaminating it. And the Riders were _back_.

True to Ildruën's word, there was a roar that sounded in the distance. Ildruën tossed back his head and laughed as a large, formidable grey dragon flew past him. He had to hold on to the slanted shingles to avoid being thrown off by the wind it created. On top of it was an elf with wild, wire-bright hair. On his hip hung a sparkling Rider's blade.

Ildruën watched in awe, and suddenly heard the cheers of the people as they too looked up. Many were clapping, while others whistled. The Rider tilted his head in acknowledgement, whilst his dragon roared in greeting to the queen, its brilliant scales shining like gems in the sun.

In the center of the street, flocked with guards and pedestrians as they fought to have a look of their ruler, sat a woman clothed in white on a proud black stallion. Ildruën noticed it when she threw back her head, and lifted a hand. A silk veil covered her face, so it was difficult to see her appearance.

Ildruën beamed and crossed his legs, chewing on his apple as he did. With so many people congregating around, it would be difficult even with guards for the Queen to pass by quickly. Ildruën still had time.

He ran a hand through his blond hair as he watched the dragon and its rider fly away towards Ilirea. A strange longing overcame him. Ildruën always wanted to be a Rider, but such things were of fading visions and wishful thinking, his father said.

A pang filled his heart. His father had died of being thrown off a horse and tossed down a ravine a year ago. His head was cracked open like an egg, and he soon died from blood loss.

Tears sprang from Ildruën's eyes, and he wiped them away. It was no use to cry. The past was the past, after all.

Holding the apple core in his hand, Ildruën threw back his hand and sent the core flying. There was an odd _bonk _sound, and Ildruën shriveled around to see what it had hit. He gasped.

A middle-height man, lean and with long legs, lay crumbled on the ground, unconscious. But it wasn't about that that disturbed Ildruën. It was the dark clothes he wore, the mask he held, and the crossbow by his side, still dripping with a purple liquid. He didn't have to look to know it was poison.

_Assassins! _Ildruën thought, stunned. He spun around and glanced at the buildings on the other sides of the street, just noticing the dark forms as the other assassins hid from sight. His mind reeled, as Ildruën tried to straighten out his thoughts. Quickly, Ildruën dragged the assassin and the weapon behind the roof slope and out of view. The assassins from afar stirred. Panicking, Ildruën hefted the crossbow, ducking behind the slanting slope of the roof. Drawing up the crossbow to eye-level, Ildruën prepared to shoot it on the other assassins. They were after the Queen. He knew it was so . . .

'Twas a good thing, then, that Ildruën's father had taught him how to use a crossbow. (Hey, that rhymes!)

He crouched, waiting as the assassins stirred. The moment one hefted their own crossbow, Ildruën quickly shot him squarely in the chest. The assassin stiffened, and fell forward to tumble off the roof and onto the street below. Screams rose.

The others discovered Ildruën's position, and they began to shoot at him. Ildruën ducked as he fumbled for more bolts, cursing himself for not thinking about it sooner. Beside him, the assassin stirred. "Oh, shut up!" Ildruën bashed him on the head, knocking him unconscious again.

He found the other bolts belted on his waist. Yanking it out, Ildruën strung one and peeked over the side, shooting again. This one caught an assassin through his head. Ildruën proceeded by killing them one by one with a rare accuracy. Each fell dead like sacks of potatoes.

When all were dead, he drew a sigh, then stiffened as he heard sounds of men climbing up the building. Ildruën lifted the crossbow, prepared to shoot. His heart swelled in fear, and his hands became sweaty.

A hand appeared from the edge. Then another hand. Then slowly, a head. A mail-covered head. An Empire soldier.

"You, boy," he growled. "Come with me."

Dropping the crossbow while holding up his hands, Ildruën approached him cautiously and was led away by the guard. Two other ones climbed up and were dragging the remaining assassin down, pulling him like a rag-doll.

A minute later, Ildruën was blindfolded, shackled, and tied to something that smelled and felt like a horse. Then he was led away. _Well, _Ildruën grumbled. _I saved the Queen's life, and this is how I'm treated? _


	2. Chapter II

**I had thought that the previous chapter was too short, so I hope this one's long enough. R&R **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others. **

* * *

><p>Hobbled, disoriented, and shaking with trepidation, Ildruën was led into what he sensed was a brightly lit room, guessing from the light that passed through his blindfold. His legs ached from knocking into stairways and walls, which the guards encouraged by steering him into the wrong directions. Even now, Ildruën could hear their stifled snickers as they pushed him forward. His knees buckled, and Ildruën hit the hard floor with a <em>crack<em>! He winced as pain shot up from his legs, but silenced his cry, refusing to give the guards any more satisfaction. A hand roughly held his head in place from behind, and tugged off his blind. Ildruën squinted from the light that emanated from the windows to his right. As he eyes adjusted, he realized where he was.

He knelt in a great hall with ceiling beams that rose for at least five hundred feet, supported with sloping arches carved in likeness of dragons. A row of long, narrow windows beside him opened up to what he knew was the high view of Dras-Leona. Guards were stationed in front and behind him, from what he could tell from their breathing, and the marble floor was a shade of dark, rich green, with black spider-web like webbings forever frozen in the earth.

It was then that Ildruën noticed the throne before him. It was of elegant build, but cut angularly, and siting on it was the Queen.

She had changed from her white gown to be replaced by a vibrant purple dress, with a rippling collar and sleeves that ended at her palms. Her skin was like polished ebony, dark as the sun was bright, with striking black eyes and cheeks. Her coarse hair was bounded on top of her head and held in place by a diamond diadem.

She was of slender build, light and delicate, but there was an air of importance when her arms moves, or when her eyes flashed. No doubt that this was Nadara II, heir of the Empire and high queen.

Ildruën was surprised by how young she looked. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, seventeen, the same age as Ildruën. He started when she spoke, breaking the impenetrable silence around them. "Guards, you are dismissed." Even her voice rang with power. The soldier saluted, and then marched out of the hall, boots creating an arithmetic beat on the ground. The last of them closed the door, with a solid _thump_.

Silence reigned as deadly as an adder hidden in the grass; prepared to pounce at any given moment. There was the sound of shoes as she stood and began to move. Ildruën kept his eyes cast downwards, hesitating. A moment lapsed. When Nadara made no to speak, he wrenched his gaze up towards her.

Instead of gazing at him, the queen was standing with her back to Ildruën, gazing at the quilt that was slung over the wall behind her throne. It was the Empire's symbol, of a white dragon clutching a rose in its claw and with a sword pointed downwards into a purple field. Ildruën recognized the significance of the flag from his studies. This originally was the Varden's seal, two hundred years ago when this near-legend of an army marched to the gates of Urû'baen and defeated Galbatorix.

The Queen sighed, before turning to face him. Her eyes rested heavily on Ildruën, like a sword prepared to drive through him, tear open his insides, searching for the secret that he held within his mind and body. Ildruën shivered and averted his eyes.

"Two hundred years," the queen murmured. "Two hundred years since Queen Nasuada ascended the throne. Now, as her descendant, it is my duty to uphold the peace that she fought for when she was of my age. But today, this peace had been broken in the most heinous method possible . . . tell me, what is your name?"

"Ildruën Dauthirsson, your Majesty."

She sauntered over and kneeled before him. From her sleeve, she withdrew a small key and unlocked Ildruën's shackles. The metal hands clattered to the ground, giving a ring that echoed through the hall. Ildruën rubbed his wrists to start his blood flowing. "Then I must thank you, Ildruën, for saving my life today. And where had you learned such things that save me? Do you know magic?"

"What?" Ildruën's mind reeled. "N-no, your Majesty. My father was a blacksmith, and taught me how to use the crossbow and others besides. I've never learned magic either . . . or never wanted to." _Except, of course, if I ever become a Rider. _He quickly dismissed the thought.

He eyes bore into him again, and he sensed that she did not believe him. After a tense second, she nodded, and sat on her throne again. "I was merely testing you, Ildruën. If I knew you were lying, would I have asked you in the beginning? No, the bolts you used were enchanted; they easily would slip through any enchantments on the assassins and on me as well. I was lucky, I suppose, that you were there to save us unawares. Soon after the body fell onto the street, my magicians soon discovered the plot, and weaseled out the traitors in the crowd. You deserve a reward, for saving my life."

"It was nothing, your Majesty. I needn't anything whatsoever." Ildruën said. Yet the thought of enchantments disturbed him. How had his apple core gotten through the assassin's wards?

. . . Odd, indeed. "Yet how were none of your magicians able to sense the assassins' minds, your Majesty? Couldn't they have spotted them before?"

Her brows rose. "You know than you take credit for, Ildruën, son of Dauthir. Certainly not, the assassins' minds were very well guarded, and covered by mild, normal everyday thoughts. It was skillfully done, but by whom, we do not know. When the remaining assassin awakes, we will interrogate him. But until then, we are left in the dark."

Ildruën lowered his eyes, playing with the shackles at hand. "If you would not mind, your Majesty, I would prefer to be free to leave."

She seemed surprised. "Why?"

"Please accept my apologies, but with the queen fawning over one of your subjects creates a wave a jealously I would rather not be involved in. It is imprudent for one in my stature, as it is to you, your Majesty. I rather like a leave and restore my quiet life than be mingled with my superiors, a place I should not belong."

"Yet there is a pro and con to the majority of arguments, Ildruën." Nadara said. "I am not aggrandizing and trying to have you made into, say, a duke, but I would like to show my appreciation for my people and what they have done for me. A Queen is not a queen for nothing. It is the people who are one of the most important factors of a kingdom. And contrary to what you said, I will not take no for an answer." A smile danced on her lips. "Tonight, we shall have a feast to honor your bravery and skill. Until then, you are welcome to food and bath and housing."

Dismay filled Ildruën; he hid it expertly behind a blank face. A celebration was the last thing he needed. _If this is what I get when a save a queen, then it would've been better if I hadn't! _"But—"

"Ardisia?" Nadara enquired, overriding his protests. "May you escort Ildruën to his rooms?"

The door opened, and a portly, stout maid with grey hair knotted in a bun shuffled in, hulling Ildruën to his feet. He loomed at least a foot over her wide frame.

As she started to scoot him out of the great hall, Ildruën turned around, despite the maid's objections. "Your Majesty, please, I don't need—"

With a prompt push, far stronger than Ildruën would've thought for a woman her age, Ardisia shoved Ildruën into the corridor, and shut the door behind them, blocking Nadara from view.

* * *

><p>Nadara's smile faded from her lips, and she drummed her fingers on the armchair. <em>What a modest man. So stubborn, and yet so dignified all the same. It would've been better if he was a greedy boot-head instead . . . Nay, perhaps not so drastic. <em>"What do you think of him, Elva?"

Nadara sensed a person stir in the room. A harsh voice, filled with the tone of an adult that has faced all the horrors of this world, murmured from the shadows, "He speaks the truth about magic. His past, however, is not as true as it seems."

Nadara shivered without meaning to. Hearing Elva speak was always alarming for one, regardless of how long Nadara had known the Witch-Woman. "Will you tell me who he is?"

" . . . No, I will not. His reasons for hiding his true self are his own problems. I know, however, that he'll do you no harm."

"Good," Nadara shifted to the side to watch as Elva padded from the shadows. The Witch-Woman had grown over the centuries, but her life was prolonged, and her appearance youthful. This woman looked about Nadara's own age, with pale, bone-white skin that was stark against her shoulder-length hair. She wore a violet robe over her slim figure, a deeper, more violent shade than the queen's. When she lifted her bowed head, large orbs of purple gazed back at Nadara with a burning intensity, accompanied with a long nose and cupid-bow mouth. Between her brows was a silver gedwëy-ignasia, shaped as a star, which rumor has it was given to Elva when she was a babe, from the great she-dragon Saphira. She smiled, pearl-like teeth glinting, and said in her terrible voice, "Fate has finally converged upon us, Nadara, heir of Nasuada. And he shall guide us to it."

Nadara hesitated. ". . . What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said," Smirking, Elva lowered her head, veiling her eyes behind thick black bangs, and backed away. The shadows soon devoured her again, and her steps faded to silence.

* * *

><p>"I said," Ildruën grumbled. "That I don't need any of this!"<p>

He thrust away a stack of silk clothes, kicking off a pair of shiny leather boots. "Please, just leave me in peace!"

The crowd of maids and servants before him charged at him again, offering fine livery that was too attractive and brightly colored for Ildruën's taste. He scowled and, grabbing a new sword along with its jewel-embedded scabbard from his bed, waved it at the people before him. "Back! Back! I'm not afraid to use this!"

The crowd wavered in line, the people hesitating. A moment passed, before they pounced on Ildruën again, trying to shove a pair of new gloves on his hands or yank off his tunic to replace it with a newer one. Ildruën cried out and thrashed under the sea of bodies, trying to squirm away from them and their raucous calls.

"But, sir, you must look presentable for the Queen and the royal court!"

"I think this looks fine on you!"

"Please, my lord! Wear this!"

"No, this!"

"But, my Lord—"

"My Lord—"

"My Lord—"

"ENOUGH!" A voice boomed from the door. The servants jumped, glancing nervously to the entrance, before backing away with their wares, heads bowed shamefully. They parted for Ardisia to stomp in, a fierce scowl on her brow. Even though the majority of the group was taller than her, she seemed to swell in size as she glowered at them. "Shame!" she cried. "Shame for tackling sir Ildruën like a pack of wild jackals! Shame! Shame! Shame! Now, leave us in peace!" Cowed, the servants scurried out the door with the fine suits and swords and tunics and boots hugged against their chests, and with their postures slightly bowed, as though afraid the heavens might crack with unearthly thunder.

The quiet that settled seemed too peaceful. When they had all gone, Ardisia sighed and helped Ildruën to his feet, her voice calmed. "Crazy children, all of them. In my days we would've had them strung up from the ceilings by their nose." Chuckling to herself, she rummaged through the piles still littered on his bed, searching for something.

"Thank you for that, Ardisia." Ildruën said, still shaken. "I would've taken a band of assassins any day."

"Just doing my job, youngling. I am the matron of the house, after all." Muttering, she withdrew from the pile what seemed to be a simple white tunic with lace-work by the wrists and collar. "Nothing fancy, eh? What of this?" And with it, she yanked out brown leather leggings and a silver jerkin to match.

Despite himself, Ildruën eyed it with approval. Not to fancy, not to simple . . . it was . . . Ildruën shook his head, remembering all his reasons. "But no, Ardisia, I can't go to it."

She raised a brow. "And why ever not? Being honored by the queen isn't an everyday thing. You're a hero."

"I was just doing what was reasonable." he protested. "I'm no one special."

"Ah, but you're actions betray you, sir." She winked. "You saved the queen. Want it or not, like it or not, 'tis hard not to be recognized for your feat. Tell you what; if you do this one feast, then I'll convince the queen to let you go, and you'll be thrashing around in the pigs in no time. Don't however, and I'll pester the queen to have you made as a royal captain."

His blood froze. Ildruën stumbled back, horrified. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would." Her eyes twinkled. "Now, are you going to pull on these pants yourself, or should I?"

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous."<p>

"Hush, you look fine."

They stood before the closed doors of the great hall, defended by a set of guards and a formidable looking magician with a dense beard. Ildruën could dimly hear the sounds of laughter and music from the room within. He shifted nervously. Being so near the noble court and the queen already made him itch.

Ardisia strode towards the wiry magician, who was standing between a set of looming guards. With his thin frame and height that barely brushed the soldier's shoulders, he seemed like a doll between them. Frowning, the magician twirled his mustache with a long finger. "Name?" he drawled.

"Oh, don't be so formal, Archibald. You know who we are."

He scowled. "Name?" he insisted.

She sighed. "Ardisia Cyionesdaughter."

"Reason here?"

"To escort Ildruën Dauthirsson to his feast of honor with the queen."

"Swear that in the Ancient Language."

Ardisia sighed, shaking her head, but did as he said anyway, saying something in a strange tongue Ildruën did recognize. Even if he hadn't, he would've felt the power of the words in the air, each like a drumbeat that made him shiver. The Language of Power, and of all Beings and Truth; the Ancient Language.

When Ardisia finished, the magician grunted and waved his hand, stepping to the side. The guards beside him grasped a handle each, before pulling.

Ildruën shot a glance at Ardisia for support. She smiled encouragingly, before backing away.

Light shined through the widening space, and Ildruën's mouth watered as he smelled the delicious things wafting from the room; spiced pork and sweet fruits and honeyed cakes, all siting there just waiting to be eaten. But then he stiffened, like a deer caught in the middle of the night.

* * *

><p>Nadara stopped what she was doing and studied Ildruën. The white tunic, jerkin and leggings suited him well, just as Nadara had expected from Ardisia's critical eye. She was amused at how trapped he appeared for an instant—blue eyes wide, mouth firm, and hands clenched. Then, his expression softened, and his entire appearance was transformed. Nadara was impressed by how easily he was able to blend into the style most suitable. It seemed that he had much practice with it, and Nadara again wondered who he was. To her right, the Lady Iviana giggled behind her gloved hand. "He is a handsome one, isn't he, my Lady?"<p>

"Yes," Nadara said stiffly, raising a goblet to her lips. "He is," _Elva said his past was scattered. Then does he know how great his destiny is?_

Her eyes flickered over to the shadows to her left, where she knew Elva hid. _I hope her guess is right._

_. . . And I hope I am right as well. _

* * *

><p>Lords and ladies all stopped their conversations and turned to look at him, some appearing friendly, and others not so much. Ildruën also noticed a few nimble, noble figures sitting on the table as well; they were so beautiful and exotic, he knew them at once to be elves, as he noted from the distrustful yet intrigued glances from the people around them. The elves eyed him calmly, postures full of grace and movements elegant. He also noticed a scattering of short, incredibly hairy men with beards spilling down their front—dwarves, he assumed.<p>

At the far end sat Queen Nadara, dressed in a brilliant gold. Beside her on her left was a man with thick brows and a sharp chin—Lord Fenvigur, Governor of the city, and on Nadara's other side, separated by an empty seat, was a very pretty girl which he guessed to be Lord Fenvigur's daughter, the Lady Iviana.

Silence reigned for a long time, before Nadara began to clap. The rest soon followed their example, including some of the elves, which finally broke into laughing cries as some of the lords stood to congratulate him. Dazed, Ildruën proceeded to be acknowledged, shaken hands with, patted on the back, and so forth by the most powerful people in Alagäesia. Finally, he made his way to Nadara.

The Queen studied him with a sharp eye, before nodding in approval. "Sit, Ildruën." And he sat between the queen and the Lady Iviana as the cheering subsided, and the talk began. Ildruën picked up his food and began to eat, careful to have his head bowed while he did. From the corner of her eye, he noticed Nadara staring at him, and he hesitated, straightening a little.

Adjacent to him, Lady Iviana chatted with Ildruën and attempted to edge a little closer. Ildruën edged away and countered her flirting with reprimanding politeness, but other than that, he enjoyed his feast. The musicians played well, the meal was delightful, and after a while some of the dwarves stood and showed then a little entertainment by battling with their axes. The people cheered.

The elves were the only ones that remained impassive through the feast. Their eyes always seemed to rest on him, strangely. But the nobles were of a different matter. They grinned and talked and laughed . . . Yet despite the smiles they showed, Ildruën sensed that the lords and ladies around him did not appreciate him sitting by their table. Ildruën snorted inwardly. Of course, they had stood to praise him only to be well with the queen. They would rather have Ildruën bowing to their knees than standing to greet him . . . like an equal. His fingers tightened on his fork. Bloody nobility. They were all the same.

Thoughts of amusement were shattered. He finally remembered by he never wanted to stay here. _That's it, _Ildruën growled. _I'll leave at first light. _

Decision made, he spent the rest of the night planning how he was going to escape. But as he raised his cup to take a sip of wine, someone in the shadows shrieked. "Stop!"

Silence. The people froze, and started as a woman wearing long purple robes stumbled from the darkness. She clutched her head, and screamed once more.

Nadara stood and raised her hand as guards were barging into the room from the sudden commotion. "Enough. You needn't draw your blades. What is it, Elva?" she asked, turning to the pale woman.

But Elva never had a chance to speak. The doors behind the guards burst open in _bang! _And the guards were thrown forward like feathers in a burst of red light, only to have been knocked to the ground, unconscious. The explosion was so powerful that the doors broke off their hinges to lay battered on the ground, streaked with ash. Tables crashed to the side, upending goblets and plates, and the nobles staggered to their feet, frightened as their magicians marched from the shadows, standing protectively before their masters. The elves raised their fair hands and began to chant in the Ancient Language. The dwarves hefted their axes and war hammers.

The soldiers that were by the back of the great hall rushed forward and surrounded their Queen, swords drawn.

And standing where the doors once were was two dark figures, each cloaked in dark robes that covered their faces, slightly hunchbacked, and carrying leaf-shaped blades in their claws.

In hissing voices, they screeched, "_Die!_"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>Guess who? :)


	3. Chapter III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others. **

* * *

><p><em>Twang!<em>

The flattened doors the strangers had been standing on shot upright, knocking the strangers off. The strangers went flying, arms flailing, and hit the corridor wall with a solid _thump_. They slid to the floor, stunned. The dwarf magician nearest Ildruën grinned, grunting in satisfaction.

"To the back antechamber!" Nadara shouted over the noise. "Please, my Lords and Ladies!"

They needn't be told twice. There were sounds of clattering chairs and screams as the nobles made for the door like a pack of rats, scrambling over their friends and magicians in their haste. The ones remaining were the elves and dwarves, who drew their weapons and waited.

As the last of the people left, with Nadara at the end, there was a sudden crash as the windows at the back of the hall shattered, shards flying like startled birds. The guards flinched, and that hesitation cost them their lives. Something stirred from the darkness, shadows within shadows, and two large, bat-like creatures with birdlike beaks dove in from the broken windows, attacking the soldiers. The beasts tore off their heads with a vicious twist of their necks, swallowing helm and all.

The remaining guards held up their swords as the beasts backed them and the queen against the wall. The soldiers looked frightened out of their wits, but held their ground while bravely stabbing at the monsters with their weapons. The creatures merely batted then aside like windblown leaves, and arching their beaks, stabbed a soldier each through his heart. They fell to the ground, lifeless.

An elf turned, lifting a hand, and shouted a spell.

The pieces of glass littering the ground trembled, and after a brief moment, rose in midair. A tremor seemed to pass through them, and they flipped, whether be it diagonally or upside down, so that their deadliest point directed itself at the beasts. Faster than an arrow, they rushed forward at once, penetrating the creatures' eyes.

They opened their elongated beaks, as an unearthly howl pierced the silence, bringing all the elves to their knees. It broke what was left of the windows.

After a pause, it stopped.

The two strangers began to stand as the screaming ceased, swaying unsteadily in place. They raised their blades, strange clicks emanating from their hoods, and wasted little time at lunging at the people present. They clashed at the ones closest to them; the elves and dwarves, as each exchanging a furry of blows. Ildruën was astonished by how quickly they moved. He could barely see the strangers, much less the elves, as they battled.

A battle-scarred dwarf, with a red beard braided in multiple forks, hefted an intimidating lance and, with a fierce yell from his lips, threw his weapon. His aim was proven true, hitting a stranger in its hip. It hissed in rage, seized the lance with its spare hand, and yanked it out with a repulsive _squelch!_ sound.

To his left, Ildruën noticed when Elva got to her feet. Her face was exceptionally whiter than before, and she was clutching her stomach, as though sick. "Are you all right?" Ildruën asked, running towards her.

She nodded, before doubling over and vomiting by her feet. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she said, "No need to worry about me, son of Dauthir. What you must worry about is the queen; she is in danger."

Ildruën could not help but shudder at her voice. It was a cruel, mocking tone that sounded irrelevant for such a petite woman. If her skin had not been so pale, and her voice and eyes not so disconcerting, then she would've been quite attractive. A sour smile flickered over her lips as she caught his reaction.

Behind the guards, the huge creatures stumbled around, as though blind and drunk. As Ildruën watched, the red-haired dwarf he had seen earlier hooked his fingers underneath the table's edge. Muscles bulging, he lifted the entire counter off the ground, and tossed it at the bat-winged creatures. The weight proved to be two much for them, and they landed with the table on top.

With Elva, Ildruën ran over to the guards, as they were furiously trying to break open the side doors. A few had tried to slice off the hinges, but to no avail. "Damn magicians!" one swore. "Sealin' off the doors!"

Ildruën cursed and eyed the structure. It was made of smooth wood, oak perhaps. Then he studied the lock. Not of fancy make, but that was enough . . .

An idea came to him then. "You, there," he said to a soldier. "Give me your knife."

"Do as he says!" Nadara snapped, as the soldier snarled and began to utter a retort. Chagrined, he reluctantly unbelted his dagger and handed it to Ildruën. He accepted it without comment.

He unsheathed the dagger, and slipped it between the handles. Locating the section where Ildruën knew would be the lock, he skillfully twisted it. There was a resounding _click! _And the door swung open smoothly.

Nadara was baffled, as well as to the magician that was guarding the door on the other side. "How did you do that?"

"By discovering loopholes," Ildruën replied, winking. "Now, hurry!"

As they rushed past him, Elva reached out and grasped his arm; he was unnerved by how cold she was through Ildruën's sleeve. "Avoid dark creatures and places." Then she was gone.

Shaking, Ildruën was suddenly pulled to the side as a hand wrenched the nape of his shirt. He spun around to meet a shadowed face that smelled of rotting flesh. He resisted the urge to gag.

"_Shadeslayer!_" It growled. Its s's were accented with a drawn-out hiss, akin to a snake, while strange clicks sounded whenever it spoke. Just being near him, Ildruën froze. He could not move. He could not speak. A fear settled in his heart, and cold sweat beaded his brow.

"_Shadeslayer!_" It repeated. "_Where is Shadeslayer? Tell me!_"

His words came out in a garble. "I don't—"

"_Do not lie to me, human!_" It growled. "_Where is he!_"

Ildruën noticed the dwarves and elves nearing them warily from behind. The stranger's companion was on the ground, clutching what was left of its arm. It tried to give it a warning, but a dwarf had sat on it, shoving a piece of rolled up cloth into its hood.

Besides, the one holding Ildruën was too occupied to notice them, and so explained the axe in his side as a dwarf swung. The stranger screamed and stumbled away, loosening its grip on Ildruën's clothes. It turned angrily to glare at them.

The moment it saw its accomplice, the stranger hesitated for a fraction of a second. It cursed. "_You shall all pay for this!_"

Faster than light, it sped past the elves and dwarves, and lashing out with its boot, clipped the dwarf on the side of his head. He went flying.

Scooping up its companion, the hood figure leapt into the air, through the broken window, and into the murky night.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: I would've made this chapter longer, but since I've been taking three-hour exams today with this same laptop, I decided to forgo the other pieces to the subsequent chapter. Sorry. <strong>


	4. Story Informer

**Story Informer**

**BEFORE YOU READ:** Information on the future Alagäesia

(Taken from the royal libraries of Ilirea) Nearly 200 years after Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular left for lands unknown, explorers discover a land west of Alagäesia, known as Ethredge, who may have been the ancestral home of the humans in the Empire. To their surprise, this country also had dragons, but was fearful of such beasts and lived in deep, well hidden villages, so was well protected from the beasts that ruled above.

At that time, Ethredge was on the verge of a civil war. Their king had died suddenly last year, leaving no heir to succeed the throne. From then to present times, Nadara II, High Queen of Alagäesia, and descendent of Nasuada the Wise, has helped them negotiate on the best approach to avoid conflict. Presently, the favor is leading more to becoming a democracy. In my opinion, it is for the best for our people . . . and theirs.

—From the desk of Fóedin Ashersson, Royal Scholar


	5. Chapter IV

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others. **

* * *

><p>Heart still pulsing in his throat, Ildruën staggered over to where the dwarves and elves had been circling around the strange monsters. They were quite dead now, with bluish blood trickling from their mouths and the numerous wounds on their bodies. The table had been heavier than Ildruën realized. Their wings were bent crookedly under the weight, necks angled in awkward positions. At some places, their snapped bone jutted out of taunt skin. Their bloodied eyes, flat and sagging like two pairs of popped water skins, still leaked a clear liquid.<p>

A dwarf stepped forward, and tentatively nudged one of them with his axe, jumping back at the faintest sign of movement.

The bodies remained motionless.

A tall, black-haired elf said, "Dvergar, do not worry. They have already passed into the void."

The dwarf grunted, bushy brows furrowing. "They're better of like that, then." He belted his axe, and went to help a magician heal the wounded.

As Ildruën beheld the dead creatures, he suddenly felt sick as he stared at their mangled bodies. He looked away. ". . . What sort of creatures are they?"

In the softest of voices, the black-haired elf said, "The Lethrblaka, or _leather-flapper_, as we call them in the Ancient Language."

"But . . ." Ildruën looked at him, stunned. "There hasn't been a Lethrblaka for nearly two hundred years!"

The elf tilted his head. "Aye, although we do not know how or why. What we once thought was not, was, and what was, has been thrown into doubt."

_The Lethrblaka were supposed to be merely bedtime tails to frighten children! How could they still be . . . I thought the Grand Master* had eradicated them ages ago. _Ildruën shook his head as reality dawned on him. "Then . . . if these are the Lethrblaka, then the others were . . ."

"Yes," the elf's expression darkened. "The Ra'zac." A tremor seemed to pass through both of them, and the two slowly turned to face the Lethrblaka again. After a moment, the elf gestured at Ildruën. "Are you injured?"

He shook his head. "No, but I thank you for asking. I am Ildruën, son of Dauthir."

"And I am Vanir, of the House Haldthin." Vanir frowned as he viewed the damage, and said, "It was a pleasure talking to you, Ildruën-vodhr. Now, if you would excuse me . . ." And he walked away to help dispose of the bodies.

* * *

><p>"No, no, and no!" Nadara said.<p>

She and Ildruën were in the throne room of Dras-leona. It was the day after the attack in the great hall, and the shards of glass and dried blood were still strewn on the ground. Investigations were still being made on how the assassins and strangers were tied together in this matter, but Ildruën had a feeling that they were never find the truth in time. _It doesn't make any sense, _He thought. _The Ra'zac—they were not after the queen, but for me. But I don't understand . . . Why? _

He glared mulishly back at the Queen, who was sitting on her throne. To her left was Ardisia, absentmindedly weaving a woolen hat with her thick fingers. Behind her was where Ildruën knew Elva resided, watching them.

"I told you, your Majesty, that I don't _want_ to get involved." He tapped his foot, arms crossed. "And being given royal chambers in Ilirea is definitely doing so."

"Involved? Hah!" She leaned forward, eyes bright. "You became involved the moment you raised that crossbow in my defense. My enemies want _you, _for a reason you and I do not know. But whatever it is, I won't have you leave my sight, not for an instance. They could use your solitude against us."

"But what if I was a spy?" he challenged. "Would you want me be near you, then?"

She propped herself back, mouth twisted. "If you were committing espionage, then why did your "friends" reveal your cover? Hmm?"

After a long pause, she sighed. "I am trying to do the best I can, Ildruën. I cannot leave you for the birds; it is against my moralities to do so. Is it family, then? Friends? If you have any in Dras-leona, and it is them that you refuse to leave behind, then I will provide any sort of hospitality towards them in Ilirea or here in Dras-Leona. But, whatever the cost, I won't leave you behind."

Ildruën knew she was right; it was dangerous being near the Queen and away from her. But what was he to do? ". . . I have no family or friends here, but Dras-Leona is my home. I have not stayed here for a while, but this is where I belong. I am sorry, my Lady."

Her face hardened. "I could order you to leave."

"And I would chain myself to the blasted stone of Helgrind if I was that desperate to stay. And I am." He turned to regard at the city, observing its bright houses and the clear blue sky. "A commoner such as myself won't do well with your kind. I'm sorry, your Majesty, but a man has to listen to himself, even if a hundred swords were pointed to my neck."

She glowered at him, drumming her fingers with frustration. To his surprise, slow smile crept over her face. "You have guts, Ildruën Dauthirsson, to be able to refuse a direct order from your Queen. If you were anyone else, I would've had you punished most . . . severely. Again, you are fortunate.

"May you verify your encounter with the Ra'zac again?"

"Aye," And he did. When he was finished, Elva had ambled from the shadows to stand by Nadara, mouth curled in a leer. Nadara raised an inquisitive brow. "Shadeslayer? As in _the _Shadeslayer?"

"I suppose."

"There are only two Shadeslayers still living in history, besides Laetrí the elf and Irnstad the Rider." Her voice trailed off ominously, and even Ardisia, who hadn't been paying much attention to begin with, lowered her weaving to listen with an intent look on her face. Nadara raised two dark fingers. "The Grand Master and Arya Dröttning of the Elves. Although both are well known, I'll bet my life that it was the Grand Master the Ra'zac referred to. It was he, of course, that had killed the last—or supposedly the last—Ra'zac and Lethrblaka nigh on two hundred years ago."

"They want revenge," Ardisia murmured.

"Aye, but why now? Why couldn't they have years before?" The queen's hand wandered over to her gown to her thigh, where Ildruën knew she kept a dagger. He noticed that she did that whenever she was nervous or frightened, as if the little scrap of metal, concealed underneath her gown, might give Nadara the hope and protection she desired. "Why _you_, Ildruën?" Her voice was sharper than Ildruën had expected.

He dithered. "I do not know."

"He speaks the truth," Elva said, startling all of them. A smile tugging at her lips, she rested her iron gaze on Ildruën. He shifted his weight on one leg, uncomfortable.

The Queen glanced at Elva. "Very well . . . you may go, Ildruën, but remember the proposition I've told you. You have tomorrow to decide."

"I will think about it, your Majesty." As Ildruën bowed and proceeded out of the throne room, his mind was already made up. He would leave for Belatona tonight. If he needed to become a fugitive from the Empire, he would. Anything _but _going to Ilirea. Anywhere but there.

* * *

><p>That night, he snuck into his room and began to pack his meager supply of clothes Nadara had given him. It wasn't exactly <em>stealing. <em>In his mind, he was doing it for a good reason. When Ildruën checked his bag, he realized how low he was on food. He thought of sneaking into the kitchen, but dismissed that plan; it was too risky. _I'll just have to get it on the road, then_.

_Snap_! As a door closed shut. Ildruën started and reached for the ornate dagger he had hidden underneath his pillow. Heart quickening, he whipped around, unsheathing it. "Who's there?"

A silence lapsed, until Ildruën thought he had imagined it. Then, a figure came from the darkness that ringed his room. " . . . Running away, are you?" Familiar purple eyes peered from the shadows.

Elva. Ildruën scowled and sheathed his blade. "I suppose Nadara set you up to this."

"She had," Elva stepped closer, examining the clothes distributed over his bed. "I thought that you were more virile than that, always attempting to abscond from your fears." She met his eyes. "Weren't you?"

Ildruën grunted and turned his back on her, stuffing his clothes into his pack. "This doesn't concern you, Elva; you should return to your Queen. No matter what you do, you won't make me budge."

Her eyes flashed, and she reached out and clamped her hand on Ildruën's wrist; her skin burned as though with fever. "I don't think you know who I am and I what I can do, human." She hissed, nearly reminding Ildruën of the Ra'zac. "I was present when Eragon Shadeslayer wrought the final blow down on Galbatorix, and it was I that saved him numerous times before in the citadel. If not for me, he and Nasuada, any many besides would've died." Her terrible voice echoed with malice. "Do not presume that I'm but an ignorant child, Ildruën, son of Dauthir!"

He shivered, wrenching himself from Elva's grip. "Regardless, this is my decision and mine alone. You don't understand what I've been through to take such precautions."

"Do I?" She arched a brow. "Perhaps I do not . . . but I know perfectly well that your father wouldn't have wanted you to do this."

Ildruën felt a chill crawl up his spine. He slowly faced Elva again, breathing raggedly. "You knew?"

"I know many things, things in which you could only dream of. And I know that your father always wanted you to be brave and face what you fear. To run away . . . like a coward you are, you're disappointing and shaming him. Hadn't he taught you better?" She smiled, teeth glinting. "Do you want to shame your father and honor?"

Elva's words stung Ildruën to the core. Those words were a reminiscence of what he himself had been questioning for months now. He could find no words to protest; he had nothing left to protest for. Ildruën shook his head, voice weak. "Never," he croaked.

"Then do as your father would've. Make him proud to have a son such as you." Elva waved her fingers as she walked away. "Think of what I've said." And she closed his chamber door.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when Nadara met Ildruën again, she was bewildered on what she saw. Ildruën's skin had become pale, almost transparent, with dark rings underneath his eyes, as though he hadn't been sleeping well. His posture was timid and feeble.<p>

Gone was the stubborn, proud man she had seen before. Gone was his confidence. What was left was the withered, broken shadow of what he once was. A shiver ran down her body. _What had Elva done to him? _She thought, horrified."Ildruën," she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. "Good morning,"

"Good morning, your Majesty," He spoke faintheartedly, looking at her feet as he did. "I thought about it, and have decided to accompany you to Ilirea."

"Well, then." She dipped her head, patting his shoulder as she did. She noticed that he was shaking slightly, and the smell of wine was pungent on his breath. Her concern grew. "We'll leave soon, so pack your belongings and meet us at the castle courtyard."

He nodded submissively and padded away, feet dragging on the cobblestone floor.

An hour later, Nadara had changed into her thick traveling cloak, and saddled her stallion, Tempest-Wind. Encircled by guards as they rode out of Dras-Leona, she noticed Ildruën riding a small bay, staring at his lap. He was quickly driven from her mind as they galloped onto the main street of the city, with hundreds of people cheering and throwing roses. Nadara nodded to them, waving as she did, and a newfound joy filled her as they left the city behind. She would finally be going home, a longing that had been with her for a nearly a week since leaving.

To Ilirea!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>

*Grand Master— abbreviation for Grand Master of the Dragon Riders (a.k.a. Eragon Shadeslayer)

(I'm aware that this chapter is kind of slow and boring compared to the others, but it was necessary in order for the next chapters to make sense.)


	6. Chapter V

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Ah! What a glorious sight to behold! People cheering on such a marvelous day, and the High Queen, proud and imperious, encircled by her friends and allies. Dwarves, Urgals, Elves, Humans, and even Werecats have come together at the height of their triumph. And this, it seems, is truly the end of the Old Age, and into the New."<em>

—**taken from **_**Domia abr Wydra **_**(Dominance of Fate)**

* * *

><p>The rumors had not lied.<p>

Ilirea was beautiful; the walls, the citadel, the houses, the towers—everything was as splendid as the old men had foretold. Ildruën looked on in wonder, twisting his head until his neck became sore. He had seen when a new light sprang into the Queen's eyes, and how she had urged her cavalry onward when the city was in sight. _She truly loves this place_, Ildruën thought as he watched her. _A Queen who protects and cherishes her country, as strongly as a mother with her brood. _

Near him, the Queen had had the last assassin tied, gagged, and surrounded by magicians as he was being led to Ilirea. In the beginning, he had yelled and spat and fought as they left Dras-Leona, refusing to eat and shouting slurs whenever his gag was off. Once, he had attempted suicide by throwing himself against sharp boulders.

His behavior had worsened to the point where Nadara had her magicians drug him daily. Nevertheless, when he was in his right mind, he kept glaring at Ildruën, eyes filled with loathing. Ildruën had galloped closer to the queen in order to avoid his stare.

Ildruën could still feel his gaze bore into him from behind.

At noon, Ildruën glimpsed the glittering forms of dragons as they flew over them, small enough to be taken for birds. Nadara raised a hand, and her cavalry slowed to a stop in order to save room for the dragons. A few landed on at the side of the road just outside the city gates, frightening the horses with the wind they created. One of them, an elf, leapt off his burgundy dragon to approach the queen, twisting his hand in a strange gesture as he placed it on his sternum. "Nadara Dröttning," he said. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."*

She tilted her head in his direction. "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda." His eyes wandered over to Ildruën, before returning to the queen's. "Your Majesty, we've heard of your . . . _squabble_ in Dras-Leona, and have reported it to the Grand Master. Would you like us to tell him anything else?"

"No, thank you." She said. "Not until I have a talk with the council members. If you may, Dusan, contact the Rider representatives?"

"It would be an honor, my Lady." The elf bowed and climbed onto his dragon. Raising their massive wings, the magnificent beasts lifted from the ground, gorging the dirt in the process, and flew off into the east. An abrupt longing came to Ildruën; he suddenly had the urge for the skies and wind, to break free of such bindings on earth. Elva, who had been riding beside Nadara, looked at him.

The group watched their shrinking forms for a brief interval, before entering the city.

Ildruën was immediately assaulted by an overwhelming crowd of people; the city dwellers cheered and waved as they greeted their queen. Nadara nodded to them as her guards forced a way through the city. After being grabbed for, screamed at, and nearly blinded by a thorn from a thrown rose, Ildruën was able to interweave within the protection of the guards, away from the irrepressible people. He was relieved when the party finally was secured behind the safe gates of the citadel, the noise being muffled by the high castle walls.

"Your people really do love you," Ildruën said to Nadara as they unsaddled their horses. She chuckled, and instructed Ardisia to guide Ildruën to his new chambers.

As Ildruën followed Ardisia, he examined his surroundings with interest. _So, _he thought. _This was once the lair of the Traitor_. In the last two hundred years, the humans and elves had reshaped the citadel. The Usurper's things were gone, stripped by the elves and humans. Many were destroyed, Ildruën had heard, so their evil practices in magic would never be discovered again.

"Queen Nadara had sent a runner to make sure your room was ready," Ardisia stopped at a large door and using a small key, unlocking it with a satisfying _click! _

The doors swung open.

Ildruën peered inside, taken by the simple beauty of the room. He had his own four-poster bed, laden with fresh pillows and large enough for two, sitting between two windows that looked out into the city. To his left was his own private study, parchment and all, along with a large closet big enough to hide two large men. Ildruën smiled at the modesty the room presented. He hadn't realized before, but Ildruën perceived that the wooden on the desk was chiseled in the likeness of a dragon.

Ardisia bowed, dimples showing as she grinned. "We picked this guest room especially for you. Are you pleased?"

"Very," Ildruën whispered, feeling the smoothness of the window pane as he admired the view. "Thank you for this, Ardisia."

"Don't thank me; it was the queen who offered you this luxury in the first place. Now, when you've bathed and dressed, her Majesty would like you to be at the council room to meet the other members."

He groaned inwardly. He was still exhausted from the trip over. Hiding his fatigue behind a blank face, he said, "I'll be there."

* * *

><p>Ildruën seated himself across from the Queen, regarding everyone there.<p>

Long ago, when Queen Nasuada still lived, she had a courtroom fashioned outside, in order to include the dragons that wished to be present for council. After so many years, the stone chairs still stood in a circular pattern, a few yards or so apart. To Ildruën's left where a few Lords that stroked their beard's thoughtfully, trying to look serene and wise when they really weren't (_Bastards, _Ildruën thought) to the dwarf ambassador, a stocky little fellow, whose chair was made so his feet could touch the ground, to the elf ambassador, Vanir, who acknowledged Ildruën with a dip of his head. Towards the right of the queen (who sat in the highest backed chair), was an Urgal named Orebök, followed by the two riders present. One was an elven woman named Taelíra, the other a dwarf called Bergen. Their two dragons, Argédian and Tallôs, sat protectively behind their riders, their looming shadows casted over the council in the noonday sun.

The council members, the riders especially, looked at him curiously as he sat. The humans were the only ones that protested Ildruën's part in the council. "He is but a boy!" one thundered. "He is an outsider and ignorant of our ways!" It was only with the Queen's order that silenced them, and even then, their fury was evident when they beheld Ildruën. Like the scum at the bottom of their shoe. Ildruën grounded his teeth.

"Now," Nadara murmured as she turned to those present. "I'm aware that all of you have heard of the attempt on my life in Dras-Leona. Ildruën here," She gestured at him. "was the one that save my life. If not for him, I wouldn't be here today."

"That doesn't explain why he's here," A husky little duke said, face purpling. ". . . your _Majesty._"

"I would appreciate it, Uthurn," Nadara narrowed her eyes. "If you were more prudent in thoughts and actions. You know little of who would be watching and noticing."

Ildruën stifled a grin as the fat lord blanched behind his mustache and beard. Stiffly, he leaned back, glowering. "Yes . . . your _royal _Highness."

Nadara observed him for a moment, before continuing. "I shall answer all your questions, peoples of Alagäesia." She cleared her throat. "Later that day, I and others besides were attacked while amid a feast in Lord Fenvigur's castle. They were beings that were cloaked in black, partnered with bat-like creatures, and carried blades shaped like leaves." The people present stirred, glancing uneasily at each other. Nadara's voice was subdued, barely above a whisper. "I believe you know who I speak of."

"But that is impossible," the fat lord said again, almost sputtering. "The Ra'zac have been eradicated already, ages ago—"

"May I address the council, Nadara Dröttning?" The elf Taelíra said coolly. She inclined her head towards the Queen, her voice like music.

"You may,"

The elf stood languidly, and all, even the obese Duke, paused as they directed their attention to her. In an eloquent manner, she began: "Two hundred years ere the fall of Galbatorix, the Black King, all races had suffered in his rule. We believed that the golden age had passed into the void, and that peace would never again reign in Alagäesia. But my race, which is of the oldest and wisest, did not foretell the rise of a rider—_the _rider, it seems, that gave us what we've yearned for all those years ago." Her lilting voice enthralled all the heard it; she turned slowly to regard each council member. Last of all, she faced Ildruën, and still staring at him, she said, "His name is Eragon Shadeslayer, the first rider of the new age, and the greatest of them all. He rose from but a farm boy to the deadliest warrior this land has ever known—companion of the dwarves (she nodded to the dwarves present), friend of the elves, humans, Werecats, and Urgals. Had we thought it possible? Had we thought him to be victorious? . . . No, we did not; however, the outcome was beyond our dreams. If _this_—"she extended her long arms towards the rest of the council, "was possible, then why not the Ra'zac? Why not them?"

It had grown deadly quite; not even the wind or birds moved. After a pause, Nadara was the first to stir amongst silent council. "Thank you, Taelíra."

The elf bowed and sat, only to be replaced by Vanir as he abandoned his chair. "My lords and ladies, shall I show you my memories of this attack?"

After all have given their acceptance, Vanir closed his eyes. Ildruën and the Queen were the only ones that remained unaffected as the memories were channeled through Vanir to the other members. Their each shared similar reactions on their faces—those of shock and revulsion. After a moment, it passed. Taelíra nodded, as though expecting it, while the dragons arched their long necks and hissed in distaste.

For the next few hours, the council discussed appropriate actions they should take against the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. Although many gave their theories on what to do, they weren't very helpful and only threw the meeting into deeper works of frustration. Nadara finally dismissed the members, thanking them for their time, but Ildruën noticed the evident strain in her face and movements, and knew that she was just as tired as he was.

Ildruën stayed behind with Nadara when she beckoned to him. "Meet me tomorrow in my study. I wish to give you an assignment to do."

"Which is?" he asked.

"Not now. If I guess, you're as weary as I. Tomorrow, when we're refreshed and in our right minds, I will tell you." He did not argue with her, relieved to be able to avoid work. And so Ildruën bid her farewell and went off to his own room. But as he walked down the corridor near his chambers, Ildruën stiffened when he noticed that his doors were slightly ajar, and slight sounds and creaks coming from within.

Hand fingering his dagger, Ildruën tiptoed cautiously toward his door, prepared for danger. One hand reaching out to swing open his door, he was met with complete darkness. As he crept into his room, as quiet as a thief, he noted the moonlight spilling through his windows, bathing his furniture with cool silver. He pressed himself against the wall, away from view, dagger lowered so it wouldn't reflect light. He caught himself breathing shallowly, and cursed.

_Careful, _he thought to himself. _Relax, relax. You've been through similar scenarios, Ildruën. _He took deep breaths, and crept towards his study, where the noises originated.

A dark form of a man was shown hunched before Ildruën's desk, rummaging through his belongings. Tightening his hold on his dagger, Ildruën lunged forward, mouth set in a snarl.

The man must've had wards, though, for there was a ring of alarm near his ear, and the man spun around, hand reaching to the knife at his belt. Ildruën gasped as the dim light spilled onto the man's face. He had to brace himself against the wall to avoid falling.

"_You!_" he said.

"_You!_" Lord Uthurn cried. The plump lord sheathed his dagger. "What are you doing here?" He demanded, moustache quivering.

"That's my line," Ildruën growled, jamming his blade into its scabbard. "The question is: what are _you _doing in my room?"

The Lord shifted uneasily, licking his dry lips, his pig-like eyes darting to the door over Ildruën's shoulder. "Just . . . err, looking for something."

"In _my _chambers?" Scoffing, Ildruën crossed his arms. "My, I would've thought you were already _fat _enough with riches. Now you're wishing to steal from the less fortunate?"

The lord's face went beet-red. "How dare you, peasant!" Uthurn seethed. "To speak so rudely to your masters!"

"Masters?" Ildruën laughed harshly. "I have no masters, and certainly not such a incompetent as you."

The duke snarled, displaying a row of rat-like teeth. "Be careful, boy, if you know what's good for you. If you weren't protected by the precious Queen, I would've slayed you on the spot. And I promise, it'll be a _slow, painful _death." Belly jiggling, he wobbled past Ildruën, shoving him purposely as he made for the door. Ildruën scowled, but stayed where he was until he heard the _crash _of the door banged shut. Muttering underneath his breath, he proceeded forward and studied the things Uthurn was looking through. The moment he did, however, Ildruën paled, and, arms trembling, slammed his fist against the desk. "Damn!"

_He stole it! _Ildruën raged. He clenched the table edge with his fingers until his knuckles turned white, still shaking from head to foot. _How could I let him get away with it? How could I've been so _stupid_?_ Fuming, he bit his lip until it hurt, as he tried to calm his breathing. Once he did, Ildruën stiffly, and very quietly repacked his belongings, hiding them underneath his desk. _I won't go back and retrieve it, _he thought.

_. . . I cannot. It'll raise too much suspicion, even if I tried. And with a rat like Uthurn around, it'll be difficult to even maneuver around here without raising alarm. _Slumping against his bed, Ildruën lay down and closed his eyes, too tired to change clothes. It was well into night before he drifted to sleep.

* * *

><p>Sweating profusely, Duke Uthurn leaned against a tree, holding his fleshy stomach. <em>I . . .must . . .rest. <em>He wheezed; each heartbeat pained him. He hadn't had this much exercise in years, and feared that if he continued, his poor heart couldn't take the strain. Huffing, he covered himself again with his cloak, gazing up at the moon as he watched the clouds drift past it. _Almost . . . there. _

Nearly gasping for air, he stumbled down the trail again, the long branches of trees reaching out to the midnight sky, as though eager to catch a star within their claws.

As the lord passed a tree, he felt the shadow beside him stir. He flinched, only to have a hand reach out from the darkness and grab in by the front. "_Well?_" The Ra'zac demanded, breath reeking of fresh meat and blood. "_Do you have it?_"

The Duke bowed, presenting a dagger from his pocket. "I have, my Lord, as you requested."

The Ra'zac reached out greedily towards the knife, only to screech as its hand broke out in terrible burns. It yanked back its fingers, nursing them against its torso. The darkness wavered again as a second Ra'zac appeared. It placed a hand on its companions shoulder, and they exchanged a series of odd clicks. The Duke watched them nervously, glancing at the sky every few seconds. He crouched and placed the dagger on the ground, wrapping it in a thick cloth. "Well . . ." the duke said, edging away. "If that is all . . ."

"_Wait,_" The Ra'zac said, and its voice made the duke freeze, like a cornered wolf. "_You have served us well, slave, but our bargain is not yet complete._"

"_You must first have the boy tell us of Shadeslayer._" The other Ra'zac hissed with detest. "_He must not live any longer._"

The duke stammered. "Understood,"

The first Ra'zac lifted its other hand, talon an inch away from Uthurn's petrified eyes. "_If you do not put your end of our deal, we will eat you for supper and leave your bones for the crows. Remember this._"

The duke nodded hastily, and bringing up his robes, all but fled back towards Ilirea, to the queen he once served, and to the one person that could unravel his future and doom.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

*—May good fortune rule over you/Peace live in your heart/and the stars watch over you


	7. Chapter VI

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others. **

* * *

><p><em>All my life, I've read and dreamed about a time when I could break free of my solitary existence. I wanted to see seas and ships and mountains and my, even the Grand Master himself if I could! But that was only in my wildest dreams . . . fleeting emotions and longings I knew I couldn't fulfill. I never expected it to be so. Well, years later, it wasn't until a handsome youth and an old woman showed up on my doorstep, did I know that my life had changed.<em>

—From the diary of Fóedin Ashersson, later added to the _**Domia abr Wyrda (Dominance of Fate)**_

* * *

><p>"Come in," Nadara said.<p>

Ildruën took a deep breath and opened the door into Queen's study. His sore knuckles brushed against the door, and he grimaced.

Queen Nadara was sitting by her desk, a clutter of scrolls and books stacked round like miniature towers. She raised her head, and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. "You look tired."

Ildruën shrugged, and seated himself at the chair across from her. "You needed me for something, your Majesty?"

"Ah, yes," Holding out a hand to steady the pile of books to her left, she very slowly and very carefully pulled a parchment from the bottom of the stack. When she had, the tower wobbled, and tilted gradually to the side. One of the books, the one at the very top, leaned off to far and tumbled to the ground. Nadara jerked out a hand to catch it, but Ildruën was faster. He caught it swiftly, nearly tipping off his chair in the process, and handed the book back to the Queen with a flourish.

Nadara thanked him before handing Ildruën the parchment. With a closer inspection, Ildruën found that it was a thin letter with the Empire's insignia imprinted on the wax. On the front was scribbled over with an address and house description.

"Information of the Ra'zac," Nadara began, "has become indistinctive and embellished over the years with their absence. However, I know that there is only one person in Ilirea who knows them for what they were and are, and conveniently, he works for me as a scholar. His name is Fóedin Ashersson."

"So you want me to give this to him," Ildruën said, looking up from the letter.

"And also collect information about the Ra'zac. I would've looked to the elves or dwarves, for they are older than our kind, but Fóedin is one of the only humans in the Empire that contains data from _before _the humans arrived in Alagäesia. The humans then had written things—many things about the Ra'zac that have faded into mere legend. We were the Ra'zac's prey since the beginning of time, and we know them best because of it."

Despite Ildruën's excitement and curiosity, he wasn't thick enough to not consider the importance of this information that she gave. "Should we be speaking of such things?" Ildruën said apprehensively, glancing at the nearby windows. ". . . Anyone could be listening at this moment."

"I've already had my magicians ward this room from eavesdroppers." Nadara said. "We are safe here."

"But why me?" He asked. "Why are you entrusting this with a near-stranger? And especially one who is targeted by the Ra'zac."

"Do you trust me?" The queen said abruptly. She said it almost like a test to Ildruën's ears, and a second lapsed before he nodded, in order to not to cause offense. She tilted back her head. "Trust is a strange thing . . . at times you can give it away so carelessly, and for others it could be the most difficult thing one could give. Although I've known you for a short time, I know that you have a good heart, Ildruën, and you wouldn't betray me as easily. Let's face the truth, you're more trustworthy than half the lot around here, aren't you?"

Humbled, Ildruën bowed at his waist. "You honor me, your Majesty."

"No, not honor.

"Never honor."

* * *

><p>Ildruën sprinted down the steps leading to the castle courtyard, were servants and soldiers were going off in their own priorities. As he stopped outside to rest, he noticed Ardisia walking towards him, each hand holding a brindle and leading two horses behind her. One of them was his mare, Latúrah, and a grey stallion that he didn't recognize. Ardisia grinned and handed him his horse's leash. "Didn't think you'll go with me, eh? With a city as large as this, it'll be difficult to not get lost within its depths."<p>

"Then I thank you for giving me your time." As they saddled their horses, Ildruën studied Ardisia's charger.

The steed had dappled markings on its legs, with a coal-black tail and mane. Its dark eyes gleamed mysteriously in the light, and it was then that Ildruën noticed the odd-shaped birthmark on its left side, the side facing Ildruën. It seemed to be an animal of some sort . . . he could make out the legs . . . and the weird-shaped head . . . what did it remind him of?

"Is that . . . a toad?" Ildruën inquired.

"Oh, his birthmark? Don't be silly, Ildruën—it's a frog. Frogs are much nicer—and they don't involve evil witches, now do they, Heget?*" Her horse bobbed his head, as though understanding what they said. Ardisia patted his neck. "Now, onward and all that!"

Ildruën shook his head, but followed Ardisia as they galloped out of the castle and into the city.

* * *

><p>For the next half hour or so, Ildruën and Ardisia used their horses to dash towards their destination, using the less populated streets in order to avoid traffic. Ildruën could hear the sounds of people and animals throughout the city, doing their business, selling their wares, and talking with friends. It merged with the reiterating clatter of the horses' hooves over the cobblestone paths that were frequent throughout Ilirea.<p>

The smell of baked bread wafted out of a nearby house window, and Ildruën's stomach growled. Last night's events had knocked the appetite out of him, forgoing dinner and breakfast. But even now, if Ildruën had eaten anything, he knew that his gut wouldn't have been able to stomach it.

As they rounded a corner, they stopped at a large, wealthy house that was an arms breath away from the other large, expensive households that dotted this rich side of the city. Ildruën had to throw back his head to see the roof of the mansion, which ran at least fifty feet into the air.

They picketed their horses by the railing beside the entrance, before walking up the steps the front door. Lifting a wrinkled fist, Ardisia rapped her knuckles sharply against the wood.

A moment passed, before Ardisia snorted and knocked louder. "Blasted man," she muttered. "What is Fóedin doing?"

Ildruën shifted uncomfortably. He noticed that the rich men and women passing by kept glancing at them suspiciously, tightening their hold on their purses. Ildruën lifted a hand and waved, feeling foolish. "Maybe he's not home," he suggested.

"Nonsense. I know Fóedin too well; he'd never leave his precious books for long. But before you meet him, be aware that Fóedin is a fanatic when it comes to the Great War,* so don't get him started. Fóedin!"

"Coming, coming!" was the muffled reply. There came a sound of rapid footsteps, like rain hitting a metal roof, then the very distinct sound of a table crashing to the ground. Ildruën winced as the door was abruptly opened.

In stood a tall man, at his late twenties in the most, with a long, arrow-thin face accompanied by pale eyes and short brows. A cap of wispy blond hair concealed his head. His mouth was wiry, and at the moment, round with astonishment as he stared at the newcomers. "Ardisia!" he said. "What a pleasant surprise! I hadn't thought—"

"We're not here for pleasantries, Fóedin." she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We're on official business . . . for the queen."

Fóedin darted his eyes toward Ildruën, before returning to Ardisia. He hesitated, before smiling uncertainly. "Well—come in then! Don't want to be out here in the cold!" He widened the door and ushered them in, placing their cloaks on the peg that stood beside the door.

Ildruën found himself in a spacious hallway that branched off to other parts of the house. Dangling from the walls were pictures of ferocious and, usually very bloody, scenes of battle. He noticed that some of the paintings held elves, others humans, dwarves, Urgals, and even Werecats, but the majority held a fiery blue dragon bathed in its own flames. As they dove deeper into the hall, Ildruën was aware that there was another dragon in the paintings—a dragon that was a red as rubies dipped in blood. Ildruën was so absorbed in the images that he was nearly left behind by the others. He caught up with them just in time as Fóedin opened a door at the middle of the corridor.

It opened to a study that was roughly square in shape. Books enclosed three of the walls, and in the middle was desk covered with paper and ringed with chairs. Fóedin plopped down in the chair behind the desk, beaming at them all. "Sorry for the wait, but my butler had his day off today, and I was busy with all of . . . this." He spread his hands. "So, what's the news?"

Ardisia gestured at Ildruën, who reached into his pocket and extracted the letter. Fóedin gingerly unsealed the message, and read it, a frown forming at his brows as his eyes skimmed the paper. With a sigh, he rubbed his temple. "I had hoped this day would never come . . . alas, the gift of knowledge is a dangerous thing, even for a poor soul such as me to bear it. I take it, then, that you're Ildruën Dauthirsson, of Dras-Leona?"

"Yes,"

"I had heard rumors . . ." His expression became thoughtful. "You have such an interesting name, Ildruën; an elf one, at that. After four decades, why humans began to take names from another races, I never know." He shook his head. "I don't know what my parents were thinking, either. After all, do I look like a dwarf to you?" Folding the letter into a small rectangle, he hid it underneath his nest of papers. Fóedin leaned forward, eyes bright. "Can you describe to me what the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka looked like?"

When Ildruën was done recounting it, Fóedin was nearly jumping with joy. "Really? Did you get a sample of their blood? What color did their eyes leak?"

"Fóedin!" Ardisia barked.

He sat back, chastised. "Sorry,"

She sniffed. "You were always the scholar."

He coughed and looked away. "That's beside the point. So, the Ra'zac said Shadeslayer . . . hmm, fascinating . . . ." He shared a look with Ardisia. "Anyway, if it was anyone but the Queen that was demanding this, I would refuse with penalty of my life. The knowledge I have . . . it is too great to leak for outsiders to hear. You must swear to me, in the ancient language that you'll tell no one about what I've said and will show you today but the her Majesty."

Ardisia said something in the ancient language, and then both of them had to coach Ildruën through the process. A weight seemed to land on Ildruën's shoulders when those words escaped his lips.

"Now, then!" Fóedin clapped his hands. "Come with me to the cellar. There are things there that I believe you'll find interesting." He extracted a half-melted candle from his desk, and with it lit, led the group towards the door that rested at the very end of the hall.

Placing a finger to his lips, Fóedin drew out a small rustic key, and unlocked the door. It swung open eerily on its hinges.

Fóedin's candle could only provide so much light. The steps of the top of the stairs faded into the darkness. Here, shadows pervaded, until it was but an inky night at the bottom of the stairwell. Somewhere, a mouse squeaked.

Fóedin strode forward, but stopped at mid-step, back stiffening. Ildruën nearly walked into him, and was able to stop himself in time. He frowned, and looked over Fóedin's shoulder. "What happened? Why have you stopped?"

Fóedin gulped and backed away, lifting a finger. "Because of _that_."

Seeing it, Ildruën made a face. Dangling by a single thread, a round and enormously _fat _spider hanged in front of them. It was about the size of an eyeball, black and red in coloration, large fangs clicking as it studied them. Its hairy legs flailed into empty air as it felt for a handhold.

Ildruën stepped forward, but hesitated. He had intended to knock the spider aside, but it was so . . . _repulsive_. It was close enough for him to see the individual hairs on its legs and abdomen, and the _eyes, _they kept . . .

Should he squish it? Should he elude it?

"Oh, you ninnies!" Ardisia huffed and strode past Ildruën. "We could be here all day if you hadn't done _this!_" She flattened the spider with a sickening _squish! _Ildruën and Fóedin winced when they noticed that there was a leg was poking out of Ardisia's fingers. It was still twitching.

Ardisia caught them staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing," Ildruën mumbled.

Fóedin, blowing away the lifeless spider thread, lifted one foot and tested his weight on the first step. The wood panel creaked and groaned underneath his weight, but held. With those slow steps, he led them down to the cellar. They found nothing there that was worth noting. (A brick wall, a window or two and a few empty boxes in the corner, the likes.) Fóedin placed the candle beside him before he knelt on the earthen ground, his palms against the floor. Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Deloi mor'amr."*

The dirt bubbled, and melted away, lifting an object from the ground. It was a book, bound with red leather, with golden words inscribed against the spine. The candle light wavered and flickered over the glossy cover, making the runes on its side seem to shine with an inner light.

Ardisia crouched and squinted in the dim light. "_Domia abr Wyrda_. The Dominance of Fate."

"Aye." Fóedin tapped the book with a fingernail. "This copy—this _exclusive _copy—is only found only in the elven city of Ellesméra, the Riders' stronghold, and with a certain member of an association called Heslant the monk."

"You?" Ildruën said, incredulous.

Fóedin smiled sheepishly. "Aye. My family has been with them for nearly two hundred years, when my ancestor, Jeod Longshanks, joined their ranks." With a casual flick of his wrist, he opened the book to a seemingly random page. "But this one is special. It holds all the information from before Alagäesia was even settled by mortal men. But I believe that we should start at the beginning, before this ever happened.

"Many years ago, before magic was bonded to the ancient language, and when elves were still young, there was a race of people called the Grey Folk. You must've heard of them—they're recounted in nursery rhymes and old legends, but never focused on. They were merely legends of legends, shadows within shadows. But one thing's for certain; they were the ones that tamed magic in the first place, at least to a degree.

"Well, at the time, living at the farthest corner of the earth, there lived a group of savage, evil humans, those that feasted on human flesh not for honor and respect, but of pleasure of ripping their kith's flesh from bone and drinking the sap of their veins. They were called the Cazar within their own people. The Cazar were so contorted in actions and beliefs, that they did not seem human anymore. Their own kind, dwarves, and even the elves, were wary of such people. Only the dragons and Grey Folk didn't fear such beings, and repeatedly hunted and destroyed them when they could.

"In rage, the Cazar banded together and attacked and killed a Grey Folk elder. Thus, in punishment, the Grey Folk cursed the Cazar, changing them into monsters that would forevermore be hated and feared by the races of the land. They changed their appearance to match those of their personality, and their habits as well. Why do you think the Ra'zac cannot be felt for with minds or magic? It's because they _lack _the right minds to begin with. But, like everything else, magic can be unpredictable. The spell the Grey Folk cast was more than they had bargained for." Fóedin's voice had softened, so that Ildruën and Ardisia had to lean forward to hear. "They gave them the essence of Death."

"Death?" Ildruën blinked in surprise. "What do you mean? How, though?"

Fóedin shrugged. "Who knows? All we know is that death _literally _followed them wherever they went. But not just death of person; death of a _land_. They factually drained the energy from the earth they walk, and if left alive for too long, they will eventually turn the earth barren."

"That's not possible!" Ildruën exclaimed. Even Ardisia appeared startled. "They can't _kill _the land."

"Have you ever wondered _why _King Palancar left his kingdom to begin with?" Fóedin sighed. "The Leader of the Riders of Old had hunted the Ra'zac for this exact reason. He needn't tell his ranks that they might make the land unfertile. A dangerous, powerful, and unseen monster was enough reason for the riders to eradicate, correct? That was all the information they needed."

A horrible feeling crept up Ildruën's spine. The revelation made him shiver. "So, if we don't destroy the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka in time . . ."

Fóedin nodded. "Then Alagäesia will die."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>

*—Heget: (Also known as Heqet, Heqat, Hekit, Heket, and Hegit) The Egyptian Frog-Goddess of fertility.

**—The Great War: what the future Alagäesians refer as the war with Galbatorix.

***—_ Earth_ _open_


	8. Chapter VII

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others.**

* * *

><p>Forgive me for the wait, but I had much to do these past few days. Presenting chapter 7!<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>At times, the greatest enemy is the one that resides among us."<em>

—**Arya Dröttning of the Elves**

* * *

><p>Fóedin saw them off at the door of his mansion. Leaning a hand on the wall, he attempted to smile, yet Ildruën believed that it came out more in a tight-lipped grimace. "Both of you can visit anytime if the Queen has more questions for me."<p>

Ildruën nodded, still unnerved, as he fastened his cloak at the shoulder. He noticed Fóedin staring at him oddly, with his eyebrows knitted together and mouth in a pinched line. Ildruën looked away, pretending not to notice, but as the stare intensified, Ildruën gave in and shot him a questioning look. "What?" He demanded, a bit more irritably than he had intended.

Fóedin averted his eyes, shrugging. "Nothing, it's just . . . Many of the city-dwellers in Ilirea descend from the original Varden. The Queen and I are an example of such. I only wonder if . . ." Pale eyes unusually bright, he shook his head, as a dog would with fleas. "It's getting late, and the guards close the castle gates at sunset. You two better get going to avoid being locked out." He held up a hand to Ildruën. "'Til next time, then?"

Ildruën paused, before shaking his hand. "Next time. Fare thee well for now."

"Fare thee well."

Ildruën unfastened the front door and padded down the steps, his dark cloak nearly melting into the dimly lit streetlight. There were very little people on the streets at this time of hour, merely shifty passerby and a few alley cats that peered at them with their luminous eyes. Ildruën was but a shadow as well as he untied and got on his horse, waiting patiently for Ardisia.

The old woman chuckled and patted her bun. "Nice lad, don't you think so, Fóedin?"

"He does have some potential," Fóedin murmured, softly enough so that Ildruën couldn't overhear. "But he's older than what they'll suspect to have. _If_ they select him, of course."

"Select?" A laugh of mirth rose from her throat, threatening to break, and she quickly covered her mouth with her callused hands. Ardisia doubled over, cackling silently. "_We _were the ones that selected the majority of them, you silly boy!"

"It was mostly you that did all the work. You're the one that finds them first, usually." He said, indifferent to her bizarre outburst. "Many strange things and people are drawn to Ilirea, willingly or no. They merely seem to . . . _attract _each other?"

Ardisia shot up abruptly, gaze frank. "Are you calling me weird?"

"Yes," he said, smiling.

Ardisia gave him a look, using a blunt finger to tap his temple. "Good! The plague of normalcy has passed me. Now, be a good little child and tuck back to your books. I have business to do tonight." She brushed her nose with her thumb, winking. "Farewell!"

She whirled around, causing a few curly locks of hair to escape her bun, and started down the steps. "Avoid salted eggplants!" She said over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Fóedin waved as Ildruën and Ardisia dashed into the distance, shrinking into the size of a gnat, and then nothing as they rounded a corner.<p>

He managed a tired smile as he shut and locked the door from the desolate gale outside. The frame itself rattled as a particular strong gust of wind blew past. Fóedin frowned and tested the door with his hand.

Fóedin could feel slight vibrations running through the wood as rain began to pelt the entrance, drizzling in a diagonal angle with the help of the suggestive wind.

_Oh dear,_ Fóedin thought worryingly, jumping as a wail of thunder emanated from outside. _I hope Ildruën and Ardisia will be well. _He drew an inward shiver as the temperature rapidly dropped.

He sauntered into the hall, noting how the candles had been guttered low in their sockets, leaving but an empty husk of its once former light. Shadows teemed from the many nooks and crannies, lengthening in size in its absence. Hesitating, Fóedin's imagination bolted from his grasp to run rabid through his mind. The shadows in the corner seem somehow more foreboding than it had before, mocking him with every movement. The paintings on the wall grew ever more black and cruel. Fóedin jumped as another roll of thunder shook the house. He winced, covering his ears.

As he passed on of the portraits, Fóedin extended his hand to touch one of the dragon's cheeks, drawing a finger along its scaled snout. "Forgive me, O Brightscales," Fóedin whispered, "for being such a coward. My vision is blinded tonight. How can I be so foolish to be unable to distinguish falsehood from reality?"

Sighing, Fóedin opened the study door with a flick of his hand, settling himself behind his desk. The tall candle beside him glowed comfortably, and with this light as his only companion through the grisly storm, he buried himself into his work.

_Scratch, scratch, _when his quill. He was so absorbed with his papers, thoughts of the storm and the Ra'zac faded away.

_Scratch. _

_Scratch._

* * *

><p>Many hours later, when his neck started to ache and his eyes burned from the constant glare of white parchment, Fóedin heard the distinct sound of someone knocking at his front door. <em>Finally! Gordan is back. <em>Fóedin got up from his seat and sidestepped his desk to greet his butler. The maelstrom outside had faded into but a faint rumble in the distance, making Fóedin's heightening anxiety diminish as it drifted away.

As Fóedin ambled down the hall towards the door, he felt a twinge of suspicion at the back of his mind. Hadn't Gordan meant to be back ages before? Why was he . . ?

_Fool, _He brushed it off. _Tormenting over such thoughts. It was merely the storm that slowed him down. _

He smiled as he took hold of the doorknob, chuckling to himself. _I was worrying for nothing. _

He unbolted the door and swung it open.

And froze, rigid.

Two figures were huddled against the doorframe, shrouded in long, black cloaks. One leaned forward and raised a hand, placing its leaf-bladed dagger against Fóedin's throat.

"_Greetings,_" The Ra'zac hissed. "_Care for a chat?_"

* * *

><p>Ildruën groaned as he was released from Nadara's council, several hours later. It had consisted only of him, the Queen, Ardisia, and Elva. Nadara previously had her magicians cast spells on them so that they were protected from being eavesdropped or scryed.<p>

Their expressions were of what Ildruën had expected when he recounted Fóedin's words. It was mainly the queen that did so; Elva merely observed them from her seat amongst the shadows, eyes like bright orbs. She remained silent for the majority of the time.

They continued to discuss the issue, but similarly to the council, they could find no simple way to solve it without causing blood to spill. Nadara had a map of Alagäesia spread out on her desk, and they continued to stare at it in vain attempt to find where the Ra'zac had been harboring for the past two centuries.

Ildruën pointed at the last place that they thought acceptable. "What of Vroengard? Monsters alien to this world are said to live there; a perfect place for the Ra'zac to spawn."

Ardisia shook her head. "No. The island lacks an abundant supply of the Ra'zac's prey. Besides, the place's surrounded by water. The Ra'zac and Lethrblaka would've made it a perfect prison for them there."

And the room faded again into mulling silence.

Ildruën crossed his arms, shoulders slouched. A pit of guilt began to form at the recesses of his heart, eating away at him. He had lost the only thing that could've beaten the Lethrblaka and Ra'zac—the only thing that would've sent them straight to Angvard's doors with just the sight of it!—all too some pudgy Lord that couldn't even lift himself out of his chair without assistance. He had been a fool; a great, arrogant fool to even _think _that . . .

He released a shuttering breath, which he knew the others would take to be frustration. But Elva knew better. She lifted her gaze to him.

Her horrible purple eyes, vast, bottomless seas in which no light could pervade, engulfed Ildruën in their stare. They were eyes that could tear away at a man's soul with but one look, and feed on their fears until they left nothing but an empty husk of what they once where.

They were the eyes of a Seer.

Eyes where Ildruën would lose himself in . . . if he too was seduced into their depths.

* * *

><p>After they had dispersed and swore oaths of secrecy in the ancient language (just as a precaution) Ildruën asked why there were so few people attending the meeting. The Queen shook her head. "We must not spew out such important information, not yet. Questions will arise, and with questions will be actions. The people have grown careless since the Usurper fell. They have forgotten the taste of danger. Such warnings . . . will cause the land to fall from under us. It'll be no use to the people if they begin to panic at news of these unseen entities. Even now, but a handful of people know of the attack in the great hall in Dras-Leona, not including the witnesses."<p>

Ildruën bristled without meaning to. "Then, will you have the people as blind as lambs sent to slaughter, my Lady?"

Nadara smiled sadly. "No, there shouldn't ever be a Queen or King that keeps their people blinded by feigned security. I would've had my best magicians and the Riders aid me in this quest to eradicate such brutes, but is it reasonable for me to strike unnecessary fear into my subjects' hearts? What would you have me do?"

* * *

><p>. . . Ildruën did not know. He hadn't known what to do since his father died. Since the dagger was lost. Since his home was gone.<p>

Ildruën cursed and punched the wall, hard enough that his already-bruised knuckles flared with renewed pain.

But Ildruën didn't care. He hadn't cared for a long time, and because of his lack of concern, the dagger was lost. Lost! What an apt word to use!

He stumbled into his room, drunk with fatigue, and lit the candles within. It was well into the night, and the land outside was black, with torrents of flimsy clouds billowing overhead.

Ildruën lifted his eyes to gaze at the mirror, the one that hung beside his bed. A young man stared back at him; his blue eyes had become ethereal in but days, with light circles forming underneath. His brows were furrowed, as though thinking of some difficult dilemma, and his lips were pressed hard against each other, until they were nearly white.

That, along with his disarrayed hair, gave him a wild, hunted look. Disturbed, Ildruën looked away, running his hands over his face.

_This is what happens when I get involved with royalty! _He grounded his teeth, fuming. _Why couldn't things be simpler?_

* * *

><p>That night, Ildruën dreamed.<p>

_He was standing amongst a field, back to a roaring river that snaked to the east. Ildruën turned without thought and gazed at the tributary, even as a thick fog rolled in and settled on the wraithlike plain. _

_In the distance he saw a boat, one that was long and flanked with tall, graceful sails. Without sound, the ship slowed to a stop at the bank, and a gangplank automatically slid off the ship to fall towards the land. A single man stepped from the ship, clothed in robes of green and white. He glided down from the railing, and stopped before Ildruën, lifting something from within his robes. He presented it to him. _

_It was the dagger. But even more beautiful than before, with its hilt polished until it shined, and its scabbard adorned with what seemed to be captured starlight. The man reached forward and touched the blade, running his finger over it. His voice was like a flute, and thrilled with an exotic accent that Ildruën could not place. "Naranig, the Bane of the Ra'zac. Do you remember, Ildruën-vodhr, how this was forged?"_

_Ildruën gulped. The history of Naranig was a secret kept among his family for generations, but there was something about this man's calm voice that made Ildruën blurt it out without hesitation. "The dagger was melted down from one of the twelve Dauthdaertya. The magicians present channeled their energy into the hot metal, giving it powers that a normal Dauthdaert would never have. It became indestructible, and all who have an evil heart are burned at the touch." _

_The man smiled and handed the dagger to him. "This dagger is your inheritance, Ildruën, son of Dauthir. Your father had it before you, and so you are worth the ownership of Naranig. Keep it with you at all times. Keep it safe."_

"_But—"_

_The man raised a hand, silencing him. Then he turned and padded up the rig to the ship. As though it was alive, the ship drew in its gangway, and slowly drifted away, back to once it came._

* * *

><p>Ildruën woke with a start, covered in cold sweat. It took him a moment to realize that it was still night.<p>

Chilled, Ildruën sat up, drawing his legs to his chest. Resting his head on his knees, Ildruën closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the dream, but regardless of how hard he tried, he found that the dream was fading away, ever faster. Ildruën cursed and focused on one thing—the man—and remembered the color of his clothes and his pale, smooth hands. But he could not remember his face.

_Snick! _

Ildruën jumped at the sudden noise. He's eyes darted from one object to the next, waiting for a sudden movement. When he found none, Ildruën rose cautiously from the bed, groping for the dagger that he'd hid underneath his pillow.

_Snick!_

His attention was diverted towards the study. As he advanced towards it, Ildruën scanned the desk and walls, where he had spread out a map of Alagäesia hours before. Everything seemed to be in order, although a little messy. Ildruën frowned and scratched his head, looking underneath the desk and rummaging through the shelves behind him. Had it been a mouse?

Sighing, Ildruën sat on his chair, eyeing everything around him, before someone peculiar caught his eyes.

. . . A quill.

A quill had been left on the desk, fresh ink still dripping from its tip. The feather closest to the handle was bent at awkward angles, as though someone had hastily grabbed it at the last moment.

Hesitantly, Ildruën lifted the plume, glancing at it, and then at the desk. "What . . ?"

He lifted the map, and nearly dropped the quill in surprise. It wasn't his dagger, but it was something even better than that.

It was another map; a map Ildruën knew hadn't been there before. It was a sketch of the northern parts of Alagäesia, from the top of Du Weldenvarden on the bottom right to the tip of the Spine on the other, and then further up to the ice caps.

Far above Du Weldenvarden, almost at its northern reaches, was an abandoned elf city that had been evacuated at the fall of the first Riders. _Someone, _an unseen entity, had taken Ildruën's quill and circled a destination.

Ildruën stared, and a feeling of old excitement and doom descended on him. His blood pounded in his ears.

It was a city. A city that Ildruën _knew, _without doubt, held the Ra'zac. It _must _be.

He said the name under his breath, the unfamiliar sound rolling over his tongue.

_El-h__a__r__í__m._

* * *

><p>Ardisia sat before her mirror, amidst a room filled with plants that either trailed from the ceiling or grew lush on the ground. The mirror, which was suspended from a holder, the desk it sat on, and Ardisia's chair and bed were the only things that the plants hadn't grown over.<p>

Ardisia swept back her unbounded mane of hair, thick curls framing her face as she grasped the lot of it in her hand, and tied it at the nape of her neck. A creature dove abruptly from the shadows of a fern, to pounce on Ardisia's lap.

Ardisia smiled and patted the creature's head. "Hello, Shadowhunter."

The feline purred and laid down, her tail curled around her paws. As Ardisia patted the Werecat, both of them oblivious to the stifling heat of the room, she focused her eyes on the mirror before her, and cracked a grin. Her image duplicated the action.

As the smirk faded from her lips, Ardisia closed her eyes, and murmured an incantation. When she opened her eyes again, the mirror had misted, turning black for a brief instant. Then it cleared.

In it was what appeared to be the interior of a bedroom, with a bed on the far side and a door to a study on the other. The mirror blurred as a person passed it, and then a turn as the being noticed her. They looked cautiously at her from the side, then, relaxing, sat before their mirror to face her.

Ardisia smiled. "Hello there,"

Eragon Shadeslayer returned her smile. "Been well?"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes: <strong>

To those who've forgotten the significance of El-harím, it is mentioned in _Inheritance _in three different locations:

* * *

><p>Page 491, 492, and 525 (Hardcover Addition):<p>

"_In El-harím, there lived a man, a man with yellow eyes._

_To me, he said, "Beware the whispers, for they whisper lies._

_Do not wrestle with the demons of the dark, _

_Else upon your mind they'll place a mark; _

_Do not listen to the shadows of the deep,_

_Else they haunt you even when you sleep."_

* * *

><p>Page 738:<p>

Umaroth said to Murtagh and Thorn:

" _. . . Avoid too the ruins of Vroengard and of El-har__í__m."_


End file.
